


Small Creatures Such As We

by slightly_ajar



Series: Domesticities [4]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Cairo Day 2019, Day 4 Sick Fic, Found Family, Friendship, Sick Fic, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 09:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18427973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: This story is being posted for the Cairo Day 2019 celebrations on the @macgyvercairo blog.  This story is for the day four theme Sick Fic and it also ties in as part of my Domesticities series with one shots of domestic fluff.Mac is ill, his friends take care of him.Mac was sure it was the worst he’d ever felt.Including the times he’d been shot.





	Small Creatures Such As We

Mac was sure it was the worst he’d ever felt. 

Including the times he’d been shot. 

Objectively, Mac knew that having a metal projectile enter his body at 1,800 miles per hour was actually worse than tonsillitis. A lot worse. But right then, Mac flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, an aching, sweaty, weakened heap of misery, it didn’t feel that way. 

He swallowed. It hurt. 

It was definitely the worst he’d ever felt. 

The door to Mac’s room creaked open and Bozer cautiously put his head inside. 

“Mac,” he hissed in a loud whisper, “are you sleeping?” 

“No, Boze,” Mac’s voice scratched like fingernails on a chalkboard, “I’m awake.” 

“How are you feeling, any better?” 

Mac grunted. The sound started as a growl but then trailed off to become what could only be described as _‘urgh’._

“I’m going to work now,” Bozer called softly, mindful of Mac’s aching head. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve made you chicken soup, because you know what they say about eating chicken soup when you’re sick, and a strawberry and kiwi smoothie that Leanna swears is full of vitamin c and anti-oxidants. They’re in the fridge.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome. Get some sleep, and stay hydrated.” 

The hand Mac threw up in acknowledgement flopped heavily onto the duvet with a flump before it could fully reach its zenith. He stared at the ceiling and listened to Bozer’s footsteps grow softer as he walked away. Then the front door closed with a click and Mac was alone. Just him and his germs. 

Was tonsillitis a virus, he wondered, or it something to do with bacteria? Did he catch it from touching a door knob that had been handled by an infected person or had he’d breathed it in while standing in a crowded elevator? His fevered brain didn’t have a handle on the mechanics of how and why he’d fallen ill. He was miserable, exhausted, he ached and he didn’t really care about the source of what had made him feel terrible he really just wanted it to stop. He stayed on his back, watching motes of dust drift in the beams of sunlight casting bright patches on his bedroom walls until he fell asleep. 

He dreamt about the oak tree near his grandfather’s house that he used to like to climb as a child. 

He’d dreamt about that tree before, it was a regular cast member in the dreams his mind used to process his free-floating anxiety. On the nights when he was worried or unsure the memory of that tree would tree bubble up from his subconscious to unsettle and unnerve him, making him relive the sight of the ground far below him, his miscalculated step and what it had been like to fall. But this dream was different. In this dream the tree was impossibly tall with a slender, insubstantial trunk and leaves that were dry, brittle and crumbled to dust when he touched them. It swayed, rocking like a boat on a churning tide; pitching and rolling like a ship out in the open ocean. Like the ship that Zoe and her students had travelled in. Like the ship that was supposed to keep her safe and take her on a journey that gave her memories to cherish and stories to share. The ship that had failed, split open and taken her life. Mac tried to hold on to the branches around him, his heart pounding with fear, but the bucking motion of the branches made a strong grip impossible, rough bark scraping his hand as it lurched out of his grasp. The cuts on Mac’s palms stung in bloodied throbs as he struggled to hold on, the ground rocking dizzyingly so far below him. He shook, shivering with panic as the cold of the ocean that had engulfed Zoe surrounded him. The oak’s branches creaked as they moved with a raw sound of something weakening and rending. He reached out again to grab desperately at the branch he was on but it slipped through his grip and he fell. His stomach lurched as he tipped over into the empty unforgiving air, his muscles contracting, trying to cling for purchase as he tumbled towards the ground that seemed miles away. He heard his own voice cry out in terror and his mind emptied of everything but the knowledge of how far he had to fall, how badly hitting the ground would hurt and the memory of his grandfather’s voice saying, “Angus MacGyver, if you fall out of that tree and break your legs don’t come running to me!” 

Mac’s eyes snapped open as he jerked awake, shivering under the cold sweat that covered his body and had soaked into his T shirt so that it stuck to him in a chilly, uncomfortable layer. He thought about having a shower as pulled the T shirt off but the walk to the drawers to fetch a clean one left him unsteady and weak, forcing him to admit he wouldn’t be able to stand for long enough to let the water wash him clean. He could still feel the swoop of plunging from the tree’s height in his stomach and shivers of fright still trembled under his skin despite being the clean shirt and the warm air. He wanted to be out of his room and away from the lingering memories of the dream. 

It was time for a change of scenery. He felt like he’d been confined to his bedroom for days room by disease and weakness and he wanted to look at a different set of walls, even if they were just the ones in another room of his house. 

Mac stumbled into the living room, heading to the couch with an ungainly lumber, snorting with amusement at himself as he went because he knew he must look ridiculous. He shambled along like Frankenstein’s monster from an old black and white movie, his gait lumpy and clumsy as if his limbs were a patchwork of oddments gathered from deeply unpleasant sources. And his throat did feel like someone had jammed two bolts into his neck and conducted a bolt of lightning into them. 

“Mac?” Riley’s voice, unsure and more than a little concerned, “are you okay?” 

Riley stood in the hallway with a shopping bag in her hand and a worried look creasing her brow. 

Mac dropped heavily onto the couch and flopped sideways unceremoniously until he was sprawled across the cushions. “I’ve been better. I’ve been worse though. I think.” He croaked as he pulled the blanket that was folded up on the back of the couch across his legs. 

“Bozer said you were sick. I’ve brought supplies.” She held up her bag then walked into the kitchen and starting unloading it into the fridge. 

“He left some stuff in the fridge too. He made Leanna’s sick day busting smoothie, you’ve just missed him.” 

“Bozer’s been at work for hours, Mac.” Riley’s head appeared around the door of the fridge, her concerned expression back on her face. 

“Oh.” Mac must have been asleep for longer than he’d thought. He checked his watch and found he’d missed most of the morning. Where had the time gone, he wondered. And if he’d been asleep for that long why did he still feel so tired? 

“I’ve brought chicken soup, my mom used to give it to me when I was sick and I still eat it when I feel ill.” Riley said, eyeing him appraisingly, “I brought cranberry juice too. It’s full of vitamin C.” 

“Thanks Ri.” Mac nestled into the couch and the comfort of the blanket. The furry material was soft and smelled like the fabric conditioner Bozer bought which promised to leave clothes with the scent of a fresh breeze but that actually just smelled like…fabric conditioner. But Mac always associated the smell with things that were clean and homely so he liked it. 

He should probably be more civil, Mac realised, he was being a terrible host, but his joints ached and he was so, so sick of feeling sick. He rallied for a moment, trying to remember his manners, “That’s really kind of you. I appreciate it.” 

“You are very welcome.” Mac heard amusement in Riley’s voice. “Stop worrying about being polite, I’m going to leave and let you rest. Do you want anything before I go?” She picked up the Bozer’s bottle of smoothie mix and gave it an experimental sniff. “Do you want a glass of this, it smells good?” 

“Yes. Please. Thank you.” 

“Here.” Riley left a tall glass of the thick red liquid on the table in front of Mac along with the TV remote. “Drink this. Rest. Eat chicken soup. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll text you later to see how you are.” She gave his blanket covered shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Feel better soon.” 

“K’ay, thanks.” 

“Bye Mac.” Riley called, adding. “Don’t get up I’ll see myself out,” in a sing song, teasing voice to make him smile. 

The smoothie was good, Mac though, sipping at it. He winced as pain flared in his throat with each swallow, but it was cool and sweet and rid his mouth of the stale dryness that coating his tongue. He picked up the TV remote while he was sat up, turning the TV on and flicked though until he’d cued up Cosmos with Carl Sagan, an old series about the solar system he’d loved since he was a child. He often re-watched the show when he was ill. Carl Sagan had a reassuring, friendly tone to his voice, like a kindly uncle or a favourite teacher. 

His phone buzzed and Mac picked it up to find a text from his dad. 

_I’m sorry to hear that you’re not well. I’m having a treatment today or I’d come by to see you. Your mom always used to make you soup when you were sick, chicken noddle soup was your favourite, I’ll have to bring a can round later with a carton of orange juice for vitamin C. Feel better soon._

Mac put his phone down on the floor without replying, utterly unsure of what to say. How do you respond to someone undergoing treatment for cancer when you were nursing a virus? 

_‘Hi, I do feel pretty lousy so chicken soup sounds great. Anyway, I hope your chemotherapy goes okay. See you soon. xxx’_?

He pulled the blanket up to his ears, tying to banish the cold heaviness in his chest that had nothing to do with his illness and turned back to the TV.

Mac had always found facts about the universe comforting and being reminded that he was a microscopic speck on insignificant rock in an endless universe reassuring. The cosmos was beautiful and magnificent. The current theories he'd read purposed that every atom that exists was created by the Big Bang, which meant all the components that made him, the couch, his smoothie and everyone he loved had once been part of a star, or a dinosaur or a had lain at the bottom of the sea. If his existence was fleeting in the vastness of time it meant that nothing he did ultimately mattered but also that ultimately the only thing that mattered was what he did, in the moment, every day. And he could control that. He could be kind and brave and decent. He couldn’t control terrorists or dictators, revenge plots, natural disasters or the reproduction of cancerous cells but he could choose his own actions. 

Mac slipped into another dream as he lay back on the couch. 

He was in Afghanistan running to reach a ticking bomb. He was sprinting as fast as he could but was barely making progress thought the thick sand. The bomb he was racing to defuse had been set in the house where his friends had come together for his sixth birthday party. Everyone was there, Jack, Riley, Bozer and Matty. His dad was there with Frankie, Jill and the men from Jack’s Delta unit. The gathering of people he met after he left Afghanistan for a birthday he had celebrated more than twenty years ago was unquestioned in the nebulous logic of his dream. What that mattered was that the people he loved were all together in a place that was about to be devastated by violence and flames. 

He hadn’t had a party to celebrate his sixth birthday, he hadn’t wanted one. He couldn’t remember what he’d done that day, vaguely recalling cards and presents, but what he did remembered was waking up on the morning he turned six knowing he wouldn’t see his mother that day. She wouldn’t hand him a gift, place a kiss on his cheek or tell him to ‘blow out his candles and make a wish, sweetheart!’ That emptiness, the void where a mother’s love should be would be there for every birthday he celebrated from then on. That day, the day he turned six, was going to be the first of its kind. The first of an awful procession of milestone days without his mom. Turning six without her felt like losing her all over again. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Newly six year old Mac had been angry as well as filled with grief. His mom had been a good person. She was kind and funny and loving and it wasn’t fair that she wasn’t there to put six candles on his cake and line up his birthday cards. Mac had overheard stories on the news when his dad watched it, he knew that there were people who weren’t nice, bad people who behaved in bad ways, and it wasn’t fair that those who did terrible things got to be in the world when his mom didn’t. Someone should make it fair, he’d thought. There should be people who stopped the bad people and helped the nice one and when he grew bigger he thought he would try to be one of them. He was going to make things right and keep things fair so no one else would have to have a birthday without their mommy. 

In the dream he couldn’t run fast enough. His thighs burned as he strained to lift his feet with the midday sun beating down on him. Sweat stung his eyes and his breathing was torn from his chest in ragged gasps, but the house with his family in was still too far away. Despite the distance he could hear his friend’s voices. He could hear Riley laughing, Bozer calling for attention and Jack spinning a yarn that was almost completely true. Then there was a boom like thunder and a burst of heat slammed into Mac and threw him backwards to land painfully on the ground. Shards of shrapnel thudded beside him, razor sharp and hot enough to heat the sand with a hiss. He heard screaming and smelled smoke and death and he couldn’t pull himself up and he hadn’t been fast enough or smart enough or anything enough and he was too late. They were gone, all of them gone, lost in fire and horror, the screaming was louder, raw wails of grief that hurt his ears and chilled his heart that were coming from all around him and from his own throat and…

Mac bolted upright, gasping. His hands clenched into fists and his body shuddering with panicked tremors. The TV was still on, his blanket was tangled around his legs, there was a half empty glass beside him and Mac looked around urgently for signs of destruction, not understanding why he couldn’t see any sand, debris or smoke. He’d been in Afghanistan, he’d been running, running through desert and there had been an explosion and death. Mac stared at the walls of his house in incomprehension for long seconds until understanding slowly reasserted itself and the panic and devastation of his dream gradually lost its grip. 

He was at home. He had fallen asleep on the couch. He’d been dreaming. His friends were okay. Everything was okay. He pushed a hand through his sweaty hair and blew out a breath. 

“Blondie?” Mac looked up to see Matty peered around his fridge and fixed him with a frown. 

“Matty?” Mac asked, disorientated again. 

Matty was in his kitchen. 

Matty was in his kitchen? 

Matty was in his kitchen! 

“Matty, you, I, wha’?” 

“Calm down, Patient Zero, before you strain something.” She pushed the fridge door shut with a snap. “I heard that you’re sick so I came over. I can’t have my best agent away from work for too long, it messes with my productivity stats.” 

“Oh.” Mac said, not really understanding. “And you’re in my kitchen because…?”

“Chicken soup. I brought chicken soup although it looks like I’m not the only one. There’s enough soup in that fridge to feed an invading army. I brought these too.” She held up a hand and swung the bag of oranges grasped in her palm from side to side. “These are Desi’s idea, she suggested them because of the…”

“Vitamin C.” Mac finished for her. His breathing had calmed and his heart has stopped hammering so his body refocused its attention to the barbed wire in his throat, the vice squeezing his head and the sensation of weights dragging down his joints. 

“Lie down before you fall over.” Matty said, her voice gentle around the command. “Do you need anything?” 

“There’s a box of tablets of the kitchen counter, I’m due to take some.” 

“Here.” Matty dropped the box on the table next to Mac’s glass. Mac took two of the tablets with a swig of the smoothie, grimacing as his throat protesting the action jarring his swollen tonsils. 

“Are you okay?” Matty said, her voice low with concern and the offer of compassion. Mac knew she wasn’t asking about his tonsillitis.

Mac placed his glass down on the table, taking the time to consider his answer. There was no point in saying he was fine, Matty would know he was lying. Sometimes Mac wondered about the depths of Matty’s understanding. There was so much she seemed to know and notice. He wondered how much she had seen and experienced to give her the knowledge and empathy she was able to show. 

“I was dreaming,” Mac looked at over to her, aiming his gaze somewhere near her left ear, not wanting to meet her eye but knowing how much she would see if he looked away. “I didn’t get there in time.” He didn’t think elaboration was necessary. 

“It wasn’t real.” Mac risked shifting his gaze to her eyes and saw empathy shadowed there. “Whatever you saw, even if there were parts of it that were true, it wasn’t real and you’re not there now.” She swept a hand in front of her, taking in Mac’s home with the gesture. “You’re in your grandfather’s house with a fridge full of soup brought by people who love you. Okay?” 

Mac nodded, a lump in his throat had nothing to do with his illness. 

“The walls we shelter behind become a little thinner when we’re sick, tired or hurting. Somethings the things that haunt us can slip in through the cracks. Focus on what’s real and solid, that will help banish any ghosts.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Mac croaked. 

“Good.” Matty put her hands on her hips. “You should be resting. Lie down then!” 

Mac lay, pulling his blanket up around him. Matty leant over him and for one wild moment Mac thought she was going to tuck him in. 

“Sleep tight, Blondie.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth before she turned and quietly left him in peace. 

Mac snuggled deeper into the couch, closing his eyes and relaxing into the cushions beneath him. He still ached and shivered and burned with fever. He was still sure this was the worst he’d ever felt in his whole life included the time he’d been exposed to nerve gas. He was felt horrible, and miserable and very sorry for himself but that was tempered by his knowledge of the many nourishing and vitamin filled products currently sitting in his refrigerator. Inside his aches and shivers, or possibly around them, Mac couldn’t tell, was a warm feeling of comfort and wellbeing. His friends wanted him to feel better and through their acts of caring they had improved how he felt. Because people who loved him wanted him to heal he felt healed. Their wish to soothe had soothed him. 

Cosmos was still playing and Mac lay back and listened to the calming voice of Carl Sagan talk about the complex marvels of the universe and the place within it of the pale blue dot he lived on, the dot which was infinitesimally small and yet precious beyond measure. 

“For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I was really pleased when I realised that I had a story idea what would fit in with both a Cairo Day theme and own Domesticities series. It was like getting two for the price of one.
> 
> The quote at the end of the story is obviously from Carl Sagan but I’m not sure if he actually said it during the Cosmos series , I thought I’d take a bit of artistic licence there…


End file.
